When after-dinner speakers rise,
To plunge in anecdotage deep,
At once will Sherlock recognise
Each welcome harbinger of sleep:
That voice which torpid guests entrances,
That immemorial voice of Chauncey's!
Not his, suppose Hall Caine should walk
All unannounced into the room,
To say, like pressmen of New York,
"Er—Mr. Shakespeare, I presoom?"
By name "The Manxman" Holmes would hail,
Observing that he had no tale.
In vain, amid the lonely state
Of Zion, dreariest of havens,
Does bashful Dowie emulate
The prophet who was fed by ravens;
To Holmes such affluence betrays
A prophet who is fed by jays!
. . . . . .
With Holmes there lived a foolish man,
To whom I briefly must allude,
Who gloried in possessing an
Abnormal mental hebetude;
One could describe the grossest bétise
To this (forgive the rhyme) Achates.
'Twas Doctor Watson, human mole,
Obtusely, painfully polite;
Who played the unambitious rôle
Of parasitic satellite;
Inevitably bound to bore us,
Like Aristophanes's Chorus.
. . . . . .
But London town is sad to-day,
And preternaturally solemn;
The fountains murmur "Let us spray"
To Nelson on his lonely column;
Big Ben is mute, her clapper crack'd is,
For Holmes has given up his practice.
No more in silence, as the snake,
Will he his sinuous path pursue,
Till, like the weasel (when awake),
Or deft, resilient kangaroo,
He leaps upon his quivering quarry,
Before there's time to say you're sorry.
No more will criminals, at dawn,
Effecting some burglarious entry,
(While Sherlock, on the garden lawn,
Enacts the thankless rôle of sentry),
Discover, to their bitter cost,
That felons who are found—are lost!
No more on Holmes shall Watson base
The Chronicles he proudly fabled;
The violin and morphia-case
Are in the passage, packed and labelled;
And Holmes himself is at the door,
Departing—to return no more.
He bids farewell to Baker Street,
Though Watson clings about his knees;
He hastens to his country seat,
To spend his dotage keeping bees;
And one of them, depend upon it,
Shall find a haven in his bonnet!
But though in grief our heads are bowed,
And tears upon our cheeks are shining,
We recognise that ev'ry cloud
Conceals somewhere a silver lining;
And hear with deep congratulation
Of Watson's timely termination.